


Encore, Part II:  Once More With Feeling

by akamww3



Series: Encounters [16]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Kissing/Mild Sexual Teasing, Mollcroft, Mycroft and Molly, Parental Interference (But Well-Intentioned), Post-TAB Setting, Visiting Mycroft's Parents, mild swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 18:56:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6717088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamww3/pseuds/akamww3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>When Mycroft and Molly spend Sunday with his parents, he’s forced by a meddling but well-intentioned mother to consider Molly’s underlying feelings for him. Will confronting the dreaded “sentiment” cause Mycroft to retreat … or could it possibly result in a deepening of their relationship?</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Encore, Part II:  Once More With Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> Mycroft was too old, too experienced and far too unsentimental to be disconcerted by the simple act of sharing a meal with Molly and his parents, but he _was_ and that fact in and of itself was _damned_ unsettling. The two hours since they arrived had passed in a blur of conversation and frequent laughter, and Mycroft had participated in both to a certain extent, but he’d mostly watched and listened. The other three were getting on like the proverbial house on fire, and his parents were obviously charmed by Molly’s quirky, occasionally macabre sense of humor, while she was just as obviously charmed by his parents … for whatever reason.

When they’d finished their tea earlier and Mycroft was peeling the assigned potatoes (methodically, if unenthusiastically), Molly had first helped Violet prepare the other vegetables for cooking and then leaned over Mycroft’s shoulder to take the peeler from one hand and a half-peeled potato from the other. “Let me finish these,” she’d said and turned to his father who was working at the sink. “I can finish cleaning the berries as well, Mr. Holmes.”

So Mycroft had found himself following his father into the garden, where he’d spent the next twenty minutes or so listening to Siger’s plans for expanding the flower beds ….

“I must be trying your patience, son,” Siger said as he rose to his feet and brushed off the knees of his trousers. “Gardening has limited appeal for you, if even that,” he said, lifting amused eyes to meet Mycroft’s. “We should join our ladies anyway. I’m sure Molly’s in dire need of a break from being the sole focus of your mother’s attention.”

Mycroft turned to look at the house thoughtfully, then met his father’s gaze with raised brows. “If Molly’s been able to withstand Mummy’s questions, I may have to offer her a job,” he said wryly, then smiled when Siger laughed.

They both sobered, regarding each other more seriously as they shared a moment of mutual understanding. “I’m more pleased than I can express that you brought Molly with you today,” Siger said. “She’s lovely in every sense of the word and, more importantly, she’s kind-hearted. You’ve needed some warmth in your life for a very long time, son – and you’ll be relieved to know that’s all I’m going to say about _that.”_

Mycroft had been struck anew by how easy-going his father was – remembering how Siger had been a constant source of calmness when the rest of the world, or just his little corner of it, had seemed destined for madness … those times when the workings of his brain were whirring out of control, his thoughts hurtling down previously unknown pathways, his senses continuously, unwittingly, cataloging minute details of people, places and events until he’d felt on the verge of sensory overload, and the buzz and confusion of it all had threatened to burst his skull. His father had always known when that young Mycroft had had a bad day, when the boy had just needed his parents to let him _be_ … and Dad would first place a gentle hand on his shoulder, then assure him that his Dad would be nearby if Mycroft needed to talk … and then the boy had thankfully been allowed to be alone, to be quiet … to lose himself in his books or his music or his theories and calculations. As the years passed and Mycroft gained more control over that constant whirring of his brain, those quiet times he’d still occasionally needed and yearned for were often interrupted by his younger brother despite his parents’ attempts to keep Sherlock distracted and busy elsewhere. In more recent years, Mycroft had been aware that from time to time Siger very gently probed for information concerning how his elder son was doing – whether in his private life or otherwise, and no doubt under orders from Violet to learn whatever he could whenever the opportunity arose – but his father was never heavy-handed about it.

Mycroft had silently considered Siger’s comments about Molly and then slowly froze in place as he stared unseeingly at his father.

“Mycroft? Son?”

Mycroft had blinked as his gaze focused on his father’s concerned expression. He suddenly and unexpectedly realized that he could, and bloody well _would_ , give Siger a significant bit of intelligence to report to his mother. “You know what, Dad? I agree with you,” he said evenly, “and that’s all _I’m_ going to say about _that.”_ He’d then turned abruptly and led the way to the sitting room without giving his father time to respond.

Violet and Molly broke off from their conversation and looked toward the door when the men came in. “What do you think of Siger’s plans for the garden, Mykie?”

“Positively blooming,” he’d said with a smile, then dropped onto the chair near Molly’s end of the sofa and gave her a quick, comprehensive glance to see how she’d fared while being alone with his mother. She’d looked a bit flushed, but not shell-shocked, so he supposed she was doing better than he’d have expected. Over the next hour, Violet had frequently popped into the kitchen and taken Molly with her, leaving Mycroft to visit further with his father. The men had eventually sought refuge behind the morning’s papers and left “the ladies” to their chat.

Mycroft’s thoughts returned to the present as he slowly chewed a roast potato and briefly closed his eyes to savor the simple perfection of its slightly crunchy exterior and smooth fluffy interior. No matter how many times he’d had it, the pleasure of eating a perfectly cooked roast rib of beef and traditional vegetables, all drenched in the liquid comfort of a smooth, perfectly seasoned gravy, and accompanied by crisp Yorkshire Puddings had never grown stale. He took a sip of the Pauillac Bordeaux he’d bought and pursed his lips, considering that the 2001 was tolerable, but now convinced the 2009 would have been a better choice. As he set his glass down, he smiled to hear Molly echo his earlier thoughts.

“You simply can’t beat such a well-prepared traditional roast beef dinner,” Molly said appreciatively before taking a slow sip of wine. A few moments later, she set the glass down and grinned at Mycroft before picking up her fork. “After we ate so much last night, I didn’t think I could possibly be hungry again for days, but this is all too delicious to resist.” She’d turned her head to look at Violet and thus missed Mycroft’s pained expression at the opening her comment gave his mother to inquire about their evening out.

It didn’t take her long to take advantage of it. “Oh?” Violet ignored the hand Mycroft waved dismissively at her. “Did you go somewhere nice for dinner?”

Molly swallowed the remains of a broccoli floret, then launched into an enthusiastic report about the previous evening. Out of the corner of his eyes, Mycroft saw but chose to ignore that both parents’ heads swiveled his way when Molly referred to it as a “date” and identified the restaurant. When Molly eventually sighed happily and stopped to take another bite of carrot, Siger glanced at Violet with an expression that was both reminiscent and regretful.

“Violet and I have always enjoyed the occasions we’ve dined there, and it’s been far too long since we did so,” Siger said. “The food is superb and the premises are so comfortably traditional. And good lord – the service! It’s simply from a different age when a discreet but personal touch was expected and the word ‘service’ actually meant something.”

As Molly offered more details of their visit, Violet gave Mycroft a significant look at mention of their private booth … and he returned Violet’s stare blankly but with a brief, warning shake of his head before his mother could comment. Molly didn’t need to know just how highly prized the restaurant’s booth seating was or to wonder how he’d arranged for them to have one at such relatively short notice. Mycroft was actually relieved when the conversation turned to Sherlock’s doings and Molly’s part in some of them, and it wasn’t long before Mycroft had to suppress his amusement and an occasional groan at Molly’s matter-of-fact observations and their sheer _inappropriateness_ at times for the dinner table.

“… and then John called to complain that I’d given Sherlock the severed head in the first place,” Molly said, then looked around the table with a confused frown. “What was Sherlock _supposed_ to do with it? Of _course_ he had to store it in the refrigerator …”

And on and on it went, and his parents simply ate it up.

~ ~ ~

Mycroft glanced out the window as he finished scrubbing the last pot and saw Molly crouch down beside his father to study whatever he was pointing to in one of the flower beds.

“Far be it for me to interfere with your personal business, son, but I hope you know what you’re doing,” Violet said as she took the pot from him and started drying it. “And don’t give me that must-placate-Mummy look, Mycroft Holmes.”

Mycroft held his tongue with an effort as he dried his hands and focused on the scene outside the window before dropping his eyes and chewing his lip. When he turned to lean against the sink and met Violet’s gaze, his expression was wiped free of impatience and any other obvious emotion. “Molly and I have an understanding. We’re friends – good friends,” he clarified at his mother’s skeptical look, but then her expression changed to the overly patient one she’d always used when she thought he or Sherlock was missing something obvious to everyone else. “What?” Even worse was Violet’s sympathetic look, and he braced himself not to flinch when she reached up to cup his cheek.

“Mykie …,” she said softly, but with an intent look. “That young woman _loves_ you – yes, she _does,”_ Violet insisted. “Do you have any idea of how Molly looks at you when you aren’t paying attention? Molly loves you, son, and you need to take care with her. If you’re not committed to a long-term relationship, don’t let her think you are.” She clucked her tongue. “And I wouldn’t be saying this if I didn’t believe you _are_ committed, Mykie - whether you realize it or not.”

Mycroft pressed his palms against his eyes and released a long breath before roughly shoving his fingers through his hair and grabbing hold of the nape of his neck. He took another deep breath and exhaled noisily through his nose as he finally opened his eyes to meet his mother’s. “I don’t want to talk about this, Mummy,” he said firmly, dropping his hands to his sides. His gaze narrowed as he stared at Violet. “Have you been interrogating Molly? Trying to get her to divulge more personal details?”

Violet gave Mycroft her best wounded look. “‘Interrogate?’ We simply had a friendly chat,” she said smoothly, but then her gaze turned intent again. “Not talking about it won’t change facts.”

Mycroft stared at her, mouth tight, brows knitted in a frown, but after a few moments his eyes turned cool and his face smoothed into the impassive expression that made her heart ache for him. “Just don’t meddle, Mummy,” he said evenly, “and try to remember what you said to me at the Savoy not long ago. If I recall correctly, and I do, you and Dad were happy enough to encourage me to spend ‘quality’ time with someone when our schedules permit. You had no problem with a no-strings relationship then, so don’t start trying to push me and Molly into something we aren’t ready for now.” Their gazes locked for several more moments until they heard Siger’s voice. Mycroft finally broke eye contact and looked away as the back door opened and his father and Molly came in, still talking about Siger’s plans for the garden.

~ ~ ~

“I should have warned you about my mother,” Mycroft said, stepping aside as he waved Molly ahead of him into the last room on their mini-tour of the cottage. “She’s an effective interrogator and can wheedle information out of you before you know what’s happening.”

Molly’s steps faltered for a moment before she continued across the bedroom to trail her fingers over the spines of tightly packed volumes in a built-in bookcase. “Your mother’s been lovely to me,” she said, then turned to prop her bottom against the desk. “Both of your parents have been.”

Molly regarded Mycroft with appreciative eyes as he walked across to a chest of drawers beside the window. She’d been amused and charmed in equal measure when Mycroft had put his clothing to rights just before they sat down to dinner. He’d carefully rolled down his sleeves, refastened his cuffs, and then donned his jacket and straightened his tie. It had been adorably old-fashioned and terribly _sexy,_ she thought as she ran her eyes from his head to his feet. She supposed the charcoal jacket in a fine-wale corduroy, grey cotton shirt, and darker grey corduroy trousers were Mycroft’s idea of country wear. She just hoped he didn’t think her white blouse, black trousers and peach-colored cardigan had let the side down.

He glanced at her in the mirror over the chest of drawers and grimaced as he held up a squat tubular figurine, white with a silver domed top, its awkward mechanical arms and feet hanging from the sides and bottom. “I’m surprised my mother hasn’t tossed this out by now.”

Molly pushed herself away from the desk and walked over to take the figurine. She turned it round and round, then carefully fingered the wind-up stick before glancing up at him. “I read somewhere that vintage Star Wars items like this are worth quite a bit,” she said, then gently set the toy back in place. “I had no idea you were interested in sci-fi as a child. What other secrets could I learn if I checked out your room more closely?”

He just snorted as she stepped around him. Molly turned the latch and pushed the window open, taking a deep breath of the fresh country air as she leaned out to enjoy the view of the front garden and fields beyond. She sighed contentedly and bent lower, arching her back as she rested her crossed arms on the wide windowsill. “It’s so beautiful here,” she said … then glanced sideways when Mycroft’s right hand pressed flat against the sill next to her elbow. She momentarily stopped breathing when he stooped over her to look out the window – not quite touching, but her body was nevertheless suffused with warmth from the close proximity of his … and then a quiver ran through her when he rested his free hand on the small of her back.

“Although the view is indeed enticing,” he said softly beside her ear while his hand slowly and very deliberately slid over the upraised curve of her bottom, “I’m certain you had no intention of seducing me when you presented it. Not with my parents downstairs,” he added as her body went rigid.

Mycroft straightened and stepped away, and Molly swung round, staring at him wide-eyed and slack-jawed. _“Mycroft Holmes!_ I would _never_ –” She broke off when he didn’t try to hide his amusement as he stroked one finger almost absent-mindedly down his cheek before dropping his hand and sliding it into his trouser pocket to mirror the other one. When he lifted both brows and proceeded to rock on his heels ever so nonchalantly, she swiftly moved forward and tightly wrapped her arms around his waist. “But you’re not getting away without a kiss,” she said and lifted her chin in invitation, watching him from under half-lowered eyelids, a challenging gleam in her eyes.

Mycroft slowly lowered his mouth to cover hers, kissing her softly and with every intention to keep it brief … until Molly’s lips parted and she licked his. Without thinking, he pulled her flush against him and kissed her more deeply, more passionately, and then it was far too late for brevity. Their lips separated just long enough to draw a ragged breath before they came back together, tongues delving deep, sliding against each other … then Mycroft’s lips were moving across her cheek and down her throat. As he brushed some hair aside with his chin, his eyelids partially lifted and the open window came into view … and he froze before pulling away with a jerk. He stared at Molly’s bright eyes, flushed cheeks and swollen lips for several tense moments - hearing their quick breaths, feeling his heart thump in his chest - then abruptly grabbed her hand and towed her out of the bedroom and down the stairs, leaving her standing in the front hall as he strode to the door of the small sitting room.

“I’m taking Molly to see more of the garden,” he said when his parents looked up from their books. He turned without giving them time to comment, then quickly strode back the way he came, ushered Molly through the front door and didn’t stop until they reached an oak bench placed in a shady spot between two flowering crab apple trees on the far side of the cottage. “Sit,” he said curtly, then grimaced and raised his hand in a placating gesture. “Please have a seat, Molly. How about a cool drink? I saw a jug of fresh lemonade in the refrigerator. Or if you’d prefer a cocktail -”

“Lemonade sounds good.” She studied his expression for a few moments, then stretched her arms out, tilted her head over the back of the bench, and closed her eyes as she breathed in the sweet scent of the pink and white blossoms. “What a lovely spot,” she said with a contented little smile.

Mycroft watched the slow rise and fall of Molly’s breasts and the movement of her throat as she swallowed, then pivoted on his heel. “I’ll be back shortly.”

~ ~ ~

Mycroft was alarmed that he’d forgotten his surroundings long enough to go so far with Molly, but even more so that he’d over-reacted and momentarily lost his cool to the point of getting into such a flap. It was _absurd_ … he was _not_ that person. While he and Molly had been discreet and neither of them wanted their private moments to be on public display, anyone sufficiently close to them to be aware that they were seeing each other would understandably assume sexual activity was part of their relationship. As he opened the refrigerator door, he paused to consider the matter in respect to his parents. No … it wasn’t simply _absurd_ to be so discomfited by the prospect of them seeing Molly when she’d obviously just come out of a passionate clinch. _It was both banal and childish,_ he thought, then drew a long breath as he reached for the lemonade, placed the jug on the table, and headed to the sitting room.

~ ~ ~

A light breeze caused rays of dappled sunlight to filter through the leaves of the crab apple trees and sprinkled bits of sweet blossoms over Molly where she lolled rather inelegantly on the oak bench. She brushed her hand over her face while glancing around the garden with a contented sigh … until her gaze drifted over the side of the cottage. She squeezed her eyes shut and suppressed a groan as she lifted her feet to the edge of the bench and dropped her head onto her knees, trying not to panic at the thought of what she’d revealed to Mycroft’s mother earlier when they’d been left alone in the kitchen.

When the men went out into the garden, Molly had turned off the kitchen tap and set the berry-filled colander aside to drip on the draining board and then glanced curiously at Violet in the ensuing silence. Her smile had faded as the older woman continued to regard her with a serious expression on her face. “Is something wrong, Mrs. Holmes?”

“On the contrary,” Violet had said, then tilted her head to the side. “You love him very much, don’t you, my dear?”

 _“Wh-what?”_ Molly’s face had turned red as she quickly looked toward the kitchen door and back at Violet. “No! I _don’t_ – I mean, um … I-I-I don’t know what you mean, Mrs. Holmes.”

Violet had simply raised her brows and stared steadily at the younger woman until Molly finally dropped her chin toward her chest with a defeated sigh. She hadn’t looked up again until Violet put an arm around her and ushered her out of the kitchen and into the large sitting room.

 _Oh god,_ Molly groaned inwardly as she recalled how she’d admitted her feelings to Mycroft’s mother and immediately assured Violet how _perfectly fine_ it was that Mycroft didn’t feel the same – that it was _absolutely wonderful_ for them to be such good friends – that she was _utterly content_ to be with him when his busy schedule allowed.

Molly suddenly heard Violet talking nearby and dropped her feet to the ground just as Mycroft and his parents walked around the corner of the house. Mycroft came toward her carrying a jug of lemonade and four glasses, and Molly quickly stretched to drag a side table closer before he set down the tray. When he returned her smile with sweet good humor, she fell in love with him all over again.

~ ~ ~

It was almost eight o’clock when Violet and Siger saw their guests off with warm hugs and kisses, which Molly readily returned and Mycroft suffered with relatively good grace. At the car, he introduced Molly to their new driver, Peter (who would be off duty for a week once he got them back to London – not that Mycroft saw any point to sharing such incidental details), and then followed her into the back seat. The trip home was a quiet one, with both of them feeling somewhat spent and sluggish after a day so filled with food and drink, fresh air and (sometimes uncomfortably personal) conversations. Molly had dozed off by the time they reached Guildford, and Mycroft slid his arm around her and tugged her closer until her head was resting against the side of his chest. He answered and made several calls, talking softly and occasionally studying Molly’s sleeping face in the dim light ... at one point lifting several stray hairs off her cheek and carefully tucking them behind her ear. He finally leaned his head against the back of the seat and allowed himself to fall into a light doze.

Mycroft sat up when they neared the flat, but didn’t wake Molly until Peter made the turn onto her street. A few minutes later, he followed her out of the car, then leaned down to the driver’s open window. “Give me ten minutes.”

“You really don’t need to see me to the flat,” Molly said as he turned back to her.

Mycroft simply lifted his brows, slid an arm around her and ushered her across the pavement and through the street door. “I may be free Wednesday night if that suits you,” he said as they went up the stairs. “And perhaps you could come to mine after work Friday?” At her nod, he added, “And stay over?”

“I’d like that,” Molly said as she unlocked her door. “Maybe we can get in a couple of swims.”

Mycroft followed her into the flat, helped her out of her jacket and hung it up, and then, without any hesitation, slipped his arm around her and tilted her backward as his mouth lowered to hers and his free hand slipped through her hair. As the kiss deepened, Molly slid her hands up his chest and cradled his head between her palms, holding him still. “Are you trying to start something,” she mumbled against his lips.

He lifted his head enough for their eyes to meet. “Just saying good night,” he murmured, then kissed her again, very softly, before releasing her. “Properly.”

“Damn it, Mycroft,” she huffed.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said smoothly and with a roguish glint in his eyes, then his lips slowly curved in a lopsided smile.

“I’ll hold you to that,” she grumbled as she opened the door and dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “Be gone then, you tease.”

Molly watched Mycroft stride down the corridor - no, _swagger_ , she thought … there was most definitely a touch of swagger going on there - and wondered if anyone else had ever caught a glimpse of this playfully amorous side of him. Could this be _her_ Mycroft and hers alone? All Molly knew for sure was she loved him and didn’t know how much longer she could keep that secret to herself.

 _And Mrs. Holmes_ , she recalled with a wince.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I'd be thrilled to read your thoughts if you have time and choose to share them. I'm always happy to reply and to answer any questions. By the way, there are only a few more installments to go!
> 
> Please note that the storyline of this Encounters series is chronological, so reading earlier parts will show how Mycroft and Molly got to where they are now. :)
> 
> For anyone who might be interested, I'm on Tumblr and devote 99.99% of my time and effort there to Mycroft/Mark love. [WaitingForTheThaw](http://waitingforthethaw.tumblr.com/)


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